Too much, too soon
by Gertrude2034
Summary: House has a new woman in his life and things are going well. But then she loses their baby and things start moving too fast for our emotionally cautious doc. House has to decide how to move forward with his life and their relationship. Pt 1 of a trilogy.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** This is my first House fiction, so really appreciate comments. Please be gentle! This chapter kind of sets the scene and is mostly about House and my new character. But stay tuned, Wilson and Cuddy are going to have important roles to play later.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The key felt heavy and slightly sharp as Chloe distractedly ran her fingernail along the jagged edge. She watched the street lights flicker on as the cab made its way through the rain-drenched streets. Jetlag made her thinking slow and jumbled. What had it been? Three time zones in one week? She was pretty sure it was Thursday evening, but she wasn't entirely positive. She felt tired right down to her bones, but then maybe she was just getting too old for this life.

She was in Jersey, not – it must be said – necessarily her pick of global hot spots, but it did include one significant upside. A bright spark in her otherwise lack-lustre sex life. Sure, the globe-trotting management consultant lifestyle sounded cool on paper. But in real life it was airports, bad food, boring hotel rooms and eating out on your own.

Then there'd been that night, five months ago, when she'd gone to a bar, treating herself after a particularly successful presentation. She ordered a 10-year-old Glenmorangie, because she deserved it. Her drink order piqued the interest of a scruffy-looking guy sitting at the bar and he'd glanced up with sad eyes. Blue to her green; both lacking something, maybe on that night, the same something. He raised his glass and one eyebrow to her in silent cheers, downed it and gestured to the barman. "While you're pouring."

Drunk men, especially older, dishevelled, and sitting by themselves at a bar, had always been one thing to Chloe: a nuisance. Travelling alone so often meant she avoided bars generally, but when she did go, she took a book, put on a grandma cardigan, wore her best unapproachable body language. Then when inevitably some pathetic guy had a go, she'd smile, be nice, but firm. It was always her cue to leave.

But that night she hadn't, she was too high on her own success, didn't want it spoiled by someone else. He'd bought the next round of the top-shelf drink and, despite the unshaven face and mussed hair, she could see his t-shirt was designer. So they'd started discussing the merits of Scotch whisky. Then before she knew it he was in her hotel room and, as she caught her breath after one of the best orgasms of her life, she wondered how many other drunks in other bars she might have misjudged. The sex was limited because he had an injured leg, but to make up for it he wasn't shy of going south and, when he got there, of satisfaction guaranteed. She'd practically buzzed for days afterwards and had smiled each time she saw the fading beard-rash marks on her inner thighs.

Like most men, he fell asleep straight away, but woke again not even an hour later, getting up to take some pain killers gesturing vaguely at his right thigh by way of explanation. Then they'd picked up their conversation again, comfortably lying next to each other in the dark. He'd been intrigued about her travel, especially in Asia, wanted to know more about her job, and smiled suggestively when she told him she visited Jersey once a month or so. Maybe he was good at asking questions, or maybe she'd just gone too long without a male's interest, but she ended up telling him far more about herself than she found out about him. She did discover he was a doctor, never married, got some vague details about his leg injury and could tell he was well travelled himself by the questions he asked, but that was about it. Then, laughingly and embarrassedly, they'd exchanged names: pleased to meet you Chloe Parker, I'm Greg House.

When they parted early the next morning, he gave her his phone number, told her to look him up next time she was in town. Which she had – and now she was at the point of inventing excuses to find herself in Jersey. The reason for this trip was pretty flimsy, the client thrilled she'd be able to attend a one-hour meeting in person, rather than by teleconference. But hey, what was the point of this nomadic lifestyle if she couldn't make it work for her once in a while?

And so when the plane had landed that afternoon, despite her tiredness, the first thing she did was make the call. Booty call. Now she was on her way to his place. It had been five months since they met, but strictly speaking this was still just their sixth date, so she was nervous about the fact that she was on her way to his apartment on her own. It had been his idea – she'd told him she'd book into a hotel and see him tomorrow – he said he'd sleep better if they could spend the weekend at his place. She'd made a lame joke about whether he'd get any sleep at all regardless of where they were, and then his voice had dropped and he'd told her with an urgent tone in his voice that although he couldn't leave the hospital right away, he'd leave a key to his place at the hospital's reception desk and she could pick it up on the way from the airport. He'd meet her there later. For some serious not-sleeping.

Chloe knocked before opening the door with the key – just in case. It was strange to enter someone else's space by herself and she felt a little unsettled. Although she'd been there once before – vaguely remembered where the light switches were, knew enough to know there'd be no food in the fridge – it was a single man's place and it showed so much of its owner, so much that he thought he kept hidden. And it _was_ hidden, from most of the world, but it was all hidden here, in his apartment. She'd felt like she'd discovered some of the vital pieces of a jigsaw puzzle the first time she'd walked in.

She dragged her suitcase into the bedroom, slumped it in a corner and headed to the bathroom for a shower. The warm water was cleansing and washed away the stale aircraft smell, but still her tiredness was overwhelming. She wanted to be awake when he got home, have a drink together, go to bed together – if they got that far down the hallway. But she knew she'd be asleep as soon as she sat down. A nap was unavoidable and he had said he'd be a couple of hours, so there was enough time for a quick rest and then she could get up again.

The thought of opening and unpacking her suitcase to find something to sleep in was too much. She wandered into the bedroom, finding a red t-shirt lying crumpled on the end of the bed, the bed barely made with the covers roughly pulled up. She picked up the shirt, put it on, crawled into bed. Apart from the lack of his touch, it was almost like he was there with her – she could smell him on the t-shirt, in the bed, all around her. She took a few deep breaths and felt her body relaxing, smoothing out the stiff muscles from the plane flight. Before she had time for another thought, she was asleep.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

House walked in the door of his apartment, slinging his backpack onto the floor. He hung his cane on the door mantle and absently grabbed a Vicoden bottle from his jacket pocket, neatly swallowing a dose. He was irritated: his current patient wasn't improving and despite prescribing new treatment, he still wasn't sure he had the diagnosis nailed. Arguing with the team had kept him there far longer than he'd wanted and he knew he'd been getting more and more irritable as the night had worn on, even by his standards. Not only had he been frustrated by not being able to solve the case; he was also keenly aware that some of the best sex of his life was waiting at home for him.

His 'frequent flyer', Wilson had dubbed her, after that first weekend when he came into work whistling. Wilson had known immediately that something was up, and to be honest he hadn't had to try too hard to get the truth out of House. House had been happy to kiss and tell. Brag. Not just the fantastic sex but the perfection of it all. She flew into Jersey every few weeks, they had amazing sex, then she left; lived her life elsewhere. She was funny, entertaining – not to mention hot – and never asked anything of him outside of bed. She didn't even call him unless she was in town or about to arrive. In fact other than her name, a vague idea of what she did as a job, and what made her growl his name when she came, he knew barely anything about her. And in contrast to most of his recent sexual encounters, there was no bill at the end.

Their last weekend together they had barely left her hotel room. Afterwards he had felt a rare calm, as if some frantic, panicked part of him had been sated – for a while at least. When she'd called today, well, he'd been in the middle of refereeing the bickering between Chase and Cameron about whether or not to do an MRI. Distracted. When she'd suggested seeing him tomorrow instead, it had finally clicked in his head – and he knew he didn't want to wait. Not even a day. And if he was going to be having sex all weekend – and he certainly hoped he would be – he wanted to be at home where he had secret Vicodin stashes and wasn't stumbling around unfamiliar furniture during the night when his leg cramped.

Turning on the lights and limping into the apartment, he realised he had some undefined expectation of finding her waiting to greet him. It was disappointing to find no nymphette sitting on the couch, drink in hand. He glanced at his watch and discovered it was 3am – about four hours later than he had thought it was. No wonder the team had been looking a little ragged when they'd finally called it quits. Ruefully he decided it probably was a little unrealistic to expect her to have waited up.

Despite expecting to find her in his bed, he felt vaguely unsettled to walk into the bedroom and find the outline of a sleeping body clearly visible under the covers. He couldn't remember the last time there'd been a woman here without him. From the light drifting into the room from behind him he saw she was wearing one of his t-shirts – the one he'd been wearing yesterday to be exact.

She stirred, disturbed by the light. She saw him standing in the doorway, the light streaming from behind him obscuring his face. Sleepily she smiled. "Hi."

He walked closer, sat down on the side of the bed. Looked her in the face, checked the t-shirt again, definitely his.

"So you made yourself at home." He'd kind of meant it in a welcoming way, but as the words were leaving his mouth he realised that wasn't what he meant at all.

She got him. He probably had a scathing name for girls who wore their boyfriends' clothing.

"I couldn't face opening my suitcase." She said simply. "Bit too domestic for you, huh?"

He didn't say anything, just pursed his mouth and raised an eyebrow. One of the things he liked about her – no hesitation in calling a spade a spade.

"So, how about I just take this off?" She reached down to grab the bottom of the t-shirt and started pulling it up.

He leant in and threaded his hand under the t-shirt to grasp one of her breasts. "Sounds like a good idea to me."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Smooth sailing** – we all know what happens when things are going well. It means they're not going to last… Next chapter things get interesting, promise, but I couldn't resist these scenes – as lovey dovey as House is ever likely to get.

HHHHHHHH

House and Chloe woke late to the sound of a beeper, a message demanding his attendance at the hospital. While he showered and dressed, she stayed in bed, stretching, dozing, knowing she had a few hours before she needed to get to work.

"Are you going to stay in bed all day?" he asked, as he emerged from the bathroom and hunted for clothes. The thought of her lying in his bed all day waiting for him suddenly didn't seem quite so domesticated and he knew it would make his day very distracting indeed.

"I'd love to," she said, stifling a yawn. "I'm so tired I can't begin to explain it. But, no, I have to prepare for a meeting early this afternoon."

"So… tonight?"

She took a sultry pose in bed, shaking her hair over her shoulders, batted her eyelashes at him. "What did you have in mind?" she asked, then answered her own question, "I was thinking more of the same."

"What, you're not bored with constant sexual ecstasy yet?" He leered at her, flashing open the towel around his waist and giving his hips a playful thrust. "Plenty more where that came from."

She laughed. Did men ever grow out of showing off their dicks? "Pride cometh before a fall, they say."

"Pride isn't necessary in the face of overwhelming fact. After last night, I think we'd easily get an affidavit from the neighbours."

"Right." Chloe agreed sarcastically, then sat up further in the bed to give her a better vantage point to watch him dress. Tucking the sheet across her breasts and folding her arms she took great delight in silently observing him.

Having donned his clothing under her close scrutiny, he picked up his cane with a flourish and turned and bowed awkwardly. "Did you enjoy the show?"

"Not really. Four out of ten. It'd go up to an eight if you'd do it again right now, but in reverse."

House walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, one arm on the bedhead so he could lean in close.

"If I did it in reverse we wouldn't be leaving this room today. My patient would die and your client would…well…go bankrupt or go to jail or experience some violent employee uprising, or whatever the hell it is that you help them with. Besides after today we've got a whole weekend for not-wearing clothes."

He made a move to stand up to leave but she reached up and pulled his head toward her. The kiss started out tamely enough, but as soon as she flicked out her tongue to taste his lips they were kissing passionately, almost violently. Eventually House pulled away, leaving both of them breathing raggedly.

"Just something for you to remember me by while you're at work." Chloe said, pointedly wiping the edge of her lips with a finger.

"Oh God," House sighed dramatically, "I so have to go to work."

"So go. Have a nice day." She gave him a playful push off the bed.

House got up and Chloe smiled to herself as he adjusted his jeans around the evident bulge.

"OK, so to be fair," he said. "You got a show this morning, so I'd like a show from you tonight, please miss. And I want to give you ten out of ten, so it'll definitely have to be in reverse."

"Bring out some of that wonderful 15-year-old scotch, and you're on. Now get out of here." Chloe snuggled back into the pillows as he walked out of the bedroom. The smile on her face faded to a rueful frown as she heard the door close. _Oh damn_, she thought, _I think I'm falling for him. That can't be good_.

HHHHHHHHHHHH

Although Chloe had only had to prepare for and turn up to a short meeting, she was still exhausted. The jetlag hadn't lifted and she had a sore back from the ridiculously small airline seat and long flying time. She seriously thought about booking a hotel and cancelling the night's plans, but what she really wanted was to be with someone in a home, not another anonymous hotel room.

She spent most of her life in hotel rooms: a corporate nomad, splitting her time primarily between Jersey, Chicago, and south-east Asia where her major clients were based, plus visiting wherever she needed to go in the world for presentations and meetings. So it was a sense of rare pleasure to fit a key into a lock of a real home, somewhere where someone kept pieces of their real self, she thought as she turned the key in Greg's front door.

When she walked in, he was already there, sitting on the piano stool facing away from the keyboard, chin resting on the handle of his cane, lost in thought. He didn't look up as she walked in.

She dropped her laptop case to the floor and sat down on the sofa, turning sideways and stretching all the way out, her head resting against the arm. They sat in companionable silence for a while. Then he turned toward the piano and started playing, some vaguely recognisable classic piece with a slightly jazz style. She smiled and closed her eyes. A random thought crossed her mind: this was all together far too good.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHH

A couple of hours later, they sat side-by-side on the sofa finishing Thai take-out and drinking a bottle of pinot grigio. They'd been doing their usual flirty, debate-team competitive conversation. Really, Chloe thought, it was surprising how many words you could use to say almost nothing. Her realisation that morning that she might be falling for him made her determined to stay light-hearted. She could tell that even broaching the subject of relationship or commitment or – even worse, asking "what are you thinking?" – would spell the end to this rather lovely thing they had. She'd rather a pleasant now and an uncertain future, she decided.

She stretched, deliberately pushing out her breasts and shaking back her hair, knowing he would look.

"My back is sore from the flight." She said by way of explanation.

"I don't do massage." His tone was blunt, but the glint in his eye showed he'd picked up her thoughts.

"Didn't expect you to. But you might take my mind off it in other ways."

"What did you have in mind?"

"What's on TV tonight? I believe you have the remote."

He gave a short incredulous laugh and then faked a hurt look. "Do you really want to watch sitcoms?" he sighed. "Well, I guess we _could_ check out TV Guide." As he spoke one hand moved over to her thigh and started lightly brushing upwards under her skirt.

She caught her breath, putting one hand flat against his chest as his fingers continued their journey.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked, leaning in close to whisper in her ear as his hand started pressing into her, moving in slow, flat circles. "Re-runs of the OC? The L-Word? NCIS?" She whimpered slightly, arching her neck back so he could kiss and nip her neck in between suggestions.

"Heroes? CSI? Scrubs?"

She giggled, both at his words and at the tickling of his beard on her throat. At her giggle, he increased the pressure of his hand under her skirt and her giggle turned into a groan.

"God you're good," she whispered.

"I know." He smirked. "Both that I am good and also God."

"Hang on, how can you be God if you're an atheist?" Chloe asked. "Doesn't that nullify your own existence?" She lifted her head and looked at him, keeping eye contact as her hands moved across his chest and down to the waistband of his jeans.

"Stop philosophising with me woman. This isn't _Sophie's World_. What about my show?" His hand left its place under her skirt, causing her to gasp quietly at the cool dampness it left behind. He grabbed her hands and stopped them in the action of undoing his jeans. "You promised. Ten out of ten, remember?" He raised one eyebrow as if in dare.

She could wait. She knew she'd get what she wanted anyway. She stood up and went over to the CD collection. After a couple of minutes browsing she found exactly the right song. Knowing she'd made her lingerie selection that morning in preparation for this made her feel a little more confident than she otherwise would have been.

The CD slid smoothly into the CD player and she turned and started a silly, sexy dance as the music started. House threw his head back in genuine laugher as he recognised the opening guitar riffs of the song she'd selected: The Clash, Should I Stay or Should I Go.

"Truly the inspired choice of every existential stripper," he said approvingly.


	3. Chapter 3

Chloe woke in the early dawn, a greyish pale light barely visible outside. The pain that had been nagging in her back had moved to her stomach and she felt sick. She thought of the Thai food and about how embarrassing it would be to throw up at Greg's place. Not exactly sex kitten material.

Despite the lovely and satisfying time she'd had last night, she really wished she'd booked that hotel room. Then she would have a bathroom to herself this morning and could throw up in peace. Right now she could feel him behind her, not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth from his body, the rise and fall of his breathing.

The pain ramped up a notch and she groaned quietly. It didn't feel like food poisoning even though she felt sick. She didn't know what to do. Get up and lie on the couch? She wasn't even sure she'd be able to stand up now. She rolled onto her side away from House and curled her knees up to her chest. That relieved the pain a little, but it was still increasing. A tiny feeling was fluttering around the edges of her consciousness. She realised it was panic, but she didn't want to recognise it yet. And still she knew she was going to have to say something, wake him up.

"Greg."

"Yes, Chloe?" He'd been awake for a while, his leg painful enough to interrupt sleep, but he'd tried to lie still; not disturb her. He'd noticed her tossing and turning, heard her quiet groans but thought she'd been dreaming.

"Umm." She paused as the pain clouded her thinking for a moment.

"Are you OK?"

"No. I'm sorry to bother you with doctor stuff, but I think I'm sick."

"What sort of sick?" He yawned.

"My stomach hurts. And I feel nauseous."

"It's just a bad prawn from the green curry." With a dismissive tone he sat up and stretched his bad leg as he always did after sleeping. Now that she was awake and probably about to throw up in his bathroom – at least he hoped she do it there – he didn't need to worry about disturbing her.

"That's what I thought, but it feels different to that."

"Turn over." He sighed. 

"What?"

"Turn over so I can look at you."

The pain came back, stabbing sharp and she gasped. "I don't think I can."

"Of course you can. Turn over."

The only answer she was able to give was a low groan. Her brain didn't seem to be capable of sentences anymore and that little tiny flitter of panic was growing rapidly, blocking out any remaining coherent thought. She felt herself start to shiver.

"Oh God. Now I have to get out of bed and come around and look at you. You know that's not easy for me, especially now with my prodigious morning glory in the way." She could hear him muttering various complaints under his breath as he made way around the bed, holding on to the bed frame with each step, but also heard him grab his mobile phone from the bedside table.

She was aware of him standing over her, pulling back the bed covers. She was still lying on her side, knees clasped to her chest.

"I need you to lie flat. Put your legs down and turn onto your back." 

"No, I can't." Lying curled into a ball seemed to be the only thing holding the pain at bay.

"Don't be ridiculous." He grabbed her knee and started pulling her leg straight. Through the cloud of pain she realised she needed to let him check her out – that he might end the pain. She slowly began straightening her legs out. Her breath left her as she moved.

Glancing down as her legs moved apart he saw the blood, red-black in the dim light; watched it pool and then overflow in a trickle down her thigh.

"Crap," he muttered under his breath.

She'd managed to stretch almost flat. Sitting down next to her on the bed, he started gently feeling her stomach.

"Chloe, are you pregnant?" His tone was cold, professional.

The question reached the exact centre of her flitting feeling of panic, lit it and caused it to dance like fire through her brain.

"What? No." Even without the pain, the last weeks of international travel meant mental calculations of dates were beyond her, at this very moment Chloe wasn't even totally sure what day of the week it was.

"_Could_ you be pregnant?" Irritably, he stressed the words, already knowing the answer.

"I guess… I mean, I suppose it's possible." She paused, her breathing shallow. "But there's only been you. And we've…"

He interrupted. "Yes, yes I know." Sighed. His mind leapt to those few moments where the passion had just been too tempting, stopping for a condom seemed to difficult, too much of a mood-kill. He'd seen her up close and she seemed clean. Besides, he'd pretty much figured his range of addictions had made him infertile by now and she wasn't exactly a nubile teen at the height of her fertility. He gave himself a mental slap over the head.

Grabbing his mobile he quickly dialled with one hand as he continued to explore her belly with the other. When he pressed a spot in the right side of her pelvis she just managed to stifle a guttural scream that seemed to surprise her just as much as it unnerved him.

"Does your shoulder hurt? Over here?" He pressed along her collarbone.

"Yes," she gasped.

He spoke into his mobile as she answered. "This is Dr Gregory House. I need an ambulance to Apartment B, 221 Baker St going to Princeton Plainsboro Hospital. I have a patient with a suspected ectopic pregnancy who has started to haemorrhage."

While talking he cast about looking for an item of clothing. He found a shirt, crumpled at the bottom of the bed and folded it, placing it between her legs.

Ending the call he threw the phone down on the bed and began limping around the room, finding and pulling on a pair of trousers and then searching for a shirt and socks.

"Am I bleeding?" she asked, confused by his call to the paramedics. Then, in a delayed reaction, the words he'd said sunk in. "Am I pregnant?"

"Tell me your favourite color." He said briskly, like someone who didn't like children being forced to talk to a six-year old.

Chloe was shivering properly now, but she wasn't sure if it was fear or cold. Somewhere she registered that she was naked, but she couldn't begin to think of how to fix that. His question barely penetrated the fog and she didn't answer.

"Chloe!" He spoke sharply and loudly. "Tell me your favourite color."

She realised of course, he needed her to stay conscious. Made sense. If only it wasn't so hard to answer.

"Blue."

"Blue's boring. Everyone says blue. I thought you'd be more creative"

"Gold."

"Gold's good."

"But not yellow gold," she said, teeth chattering. "Gold the color of the metal. The shiny gold."

"Not bad. Blood type?"

"O positive."

"Again with the boring answer. Everyone's O positive, it's as boring as dirty dishes on Saturday night. What's your star sign?"

"Aquarius."

He sat down on the bed next to her, now fully dressed. He had grabbed the red t-shirt he'd pulled off her last night and started to pull it over her head.

"Come on, the paramedics will be here in a second. There's no point covering your lower half, but let's not let them see everything for free." Again his tone was caustic, but his touch was gentle as he manoeuvred the shirt over her head and helped her arms through the sleeves.

"Greg?" She asked. Despite the pain there was something she really wanted to say.

"Yes?" he answered, pulling the t-shirt down around her.

"This wasn't what I had in mind." Then she fainted.


	4. Chapter 4

Once they were in the ambulance House monitored Chloe's blood pressure and heart rate through the paramedic's stethoscope. There was nothing that could be done until they got her to surgery. Just hope the blood loss wasn't too bad before they got her there.

He grabbed his mobile again, dialled Cuddy's home number. She answered, groggy, obviously woken from sleep.

"This is Cuddy."

"Cuddy, who is your best OB-GYN surgeon?"

"House? Is that you?" She put on her warning tone. "This better be important House, it's not even five am."

"It's important. Um," he paused, wondering how on earth to explain what was happening, "a friend of mine. You know, my frequent flyer, Chloe. Suspected ectopic. We're on the way to the hospital now."

His tone immediately sobered Cuddy. House and Wilson had deliberately let her overhear some of their ribald conversation about House's latest companion, the woman they'd dubbed the 'frequent flyer'. She knew he was serious.

"Wright is on call, he should be at the hospital. He's good. You can trust him."

"Thanks, I'll call him."

"No, I'll call him and meet you at the hospital. I'll be there as soon as I can."

He started to speak, "No, you don't..." But she'd already hung up.

HHHHHHHHHH

Cuddy found House sitting on a couch in the waiting area on the surgical floor. She handed him the coffee she'd picked up in the café downstairs.

He looked up just long enough to accept it.

"So, what's the story?" She sat down next to him, wanting to put an arm around him, provide comfort in some way. She resisted, knowing that he'd hate it.

"She's in surgery now. From what I saw on the ultrasounds in the ER, it seems a pretty straightforward ectopic with the pregnancy clearly in the right fallopian tube. It ruptured and she had some pretty serious blood loss, but they got her up here from the ER pretty quickly." He knew that had mostly been to do with Cuddy making phone calls, warning people of their arrival in the ER.

He glanced sideways at her. "Thanks." He didn't want to admit that once they'd arrived at the ER he'd stood back, watched as other doctors, nurses, took charge of the situation. He'd been paralysed in some strange way, unable to take his normal position of authority.

"You're welcome." She smiled sympathetically and this time couldn't resist reaching over and briefly squeezing his hand.

They sat together drinking their coffees in silence for a few moments until finally House exhaled loudly and stood up.

"I don't even know what I'm doing here. Waiting rooms are pointless. Being on the same floor isn't going to make any difference to what happens." He pointed his cane to the television bolted to the ceiling playing a fuzzy children's program. "And I have my own TV upstairs with the monster truck channel."

Cuddy watched him stride away with his cane, thought briefly about following, and then sighed back into the chair. Her head was full of mixed thoughts provoked by House's situation – her still sharp grief about her own miscarriage; House's kindness about her pregnancy attempts. Despite their closeness on that topic, she really had no idea how he felt about being a father – but she somehow doubted what had happened was planned. She sighed and downed the rest of her coffee, getting up and heading back to her office. She'd get Wilson to check on him later. On the way she stopped in at the surgical desk, asking to be informed when patient Parker was out of surgery.

HHHHHHHH

House had spent an hour or so wasting time in his office. Sometime during his third game of online sudoku the call had come through – the surgery had been successful. There'd been a few worrying moments when they'd needed to shock her heart to fix an arrhythmia from the blood loss, Wright said, but her heart responded immediately and now she was fine; she was in a room on the OB floor.

Once he figured he'd given Wilson enough time to get in and settle in his office he walked around, opening the door and going straight in. He was glad to see there was no patient he'd have to get rid off.

Wilson looked up at his friend, noted the extra strain around his tired eyes. His clothes were crumpled, hair messy; for House this wasn't out of the ordinary. But Wilson knew House well enough to know the difference.

He sat heavily into the chair opposite Wilson and rested his head on his cane, staring down at the floor.

"Cuddy called me." Wilson said.

House gave him an annoyed look. "Cuddy's got a big mouth."

"House," Wilson said reprovingly. " I don't think Cuddy has exactly told the whole hospital."

House recalled their arrival at the hospital that morning. He'd been treated by the ER staff as a doctor accompanying a critical patient, not as a relative or a person with a stake in what was going on. Not until Wright discreetly pulled him aside as she was being taken up to the OR. Patted his arm in a reassuring way and said he'd call as

soon as she was out.

House nodded. "Yeah, you're right."

"The surgery all went fine?"

"Pretty much. They removed the tube ok, blood loss caused an arrhythmia, but they were able to get her back immediately."

"Wow," said Wilson, sympathetically. "So you've had a big morning."

House nodded, "I guess you could say that."

"And how are _you_ coping with all this?" said Wilson gently.

"I'm fine." House still hadn't looked up.

"House," Wilson probed, "this is a pretty intense thing to have happen for anyone. Are you sure you're alright about it?"

"I said, I'm fine," said House, irritably.

"I gather this wasn't a planned thing?"

House looked up from the floor, incredulous.

"Yeah, Wilson, I've been keeping it a secret from you, but I've been working on impregnating all the women in New Jersey to create an army and take over the country."

Trust House to answer a personal question with a joke, thought Wilson.

"So you didn't know until this happened?"

"I don't even think she knew." House prided himself on knowing a bit about deceit. He was pretty sure she wasn't lying, her surprise at his questions too genuine.

Wilson tried to find the right words for the question he was burning to ask.

"And, you're sure it was… well… yours?"

House narrowed his eyes. "I haven't exactly had time to do a paternity test." He sat back in the chair and paused for a beat. "But, I don't think there's been anyone else."

"Ah." Wilson watched as his old friend ran his hand through his hair. It was a gesture Wilson knew came when he was annoyed, frustrated or just plain confused. "So what do you think this is going to mean for the two of you?"

House sighed. "I really have no idea."


	5. Chapter 5

It was early afternoon and House sat at the end of the meeting table staring out the windows as Foreman and Chase argued their point about whether or not antibiotics would be effective against the infection – if, in fact the patient even _had_ an infection. Cameron futilely interjected every now and then. He hadn't been listening for sometime.

Suddenly there was a sharp rap on the glass door separating his office from the diagnosis room. Wilson. Fuming.

Wilson put his head around the door. "Dr House, I need to see you right now."

House got up and walked towards his office.

Chase and Foreman shared a puzzled look, belatedly realising their boss had been silent for some time and was leaving room without providing any direction. "So do we give him the antibiotics or what?" asked Chase.

"I don't care." House was offhand. "Do whatever you think won't kill him."

"But House," stormed Foreman, "you can't just walk away, we need to…"

"Just do your jobs!" House spat over his shoulder as he stepped into the office to face Wilson, closing the door behind him; oblivious to the incredulous expressions the doctors behind him shared.

Wilson glowered at him.

"What are you doing here?"

House didn't answer. He sat down at his desk, grabbed the ball sitting on it and began bouncing it off the wall.

Wilson continued, taking his well-worn lecturing tone. "Chloe's been out of surgery for hours, she's probably conscious by now, and all alone. Have you even been to see her?"

House still didn't say anything. He noticed that Wilson had started using Chloe's proper name and not the frequent flyer nickname he had previously been so proud of.

Wilson gave an exasperated sigh. "House?" he questioned again. He realised that this was going to be a long conversation. He sat down and waited.

After a while House spoke. "I should have known."

"You should have known what?" asked Wilson, genuinely puzzled.

"I should have known she was pregnant." There were certainly signs there, he thought to himself, recognising them now, in hindsight.

"_That's _what you're upset about?" spluttered Wilson. "I can't believe you. Everything that's happened and you're upset about missing a diagnosis? You haven't seen her for weeks, you couldn't possibly have known." He sighed with exasperation. "You're incredible."

"I should have known. She had that look, the tiredness and then the back pain..." he trailed off. House thought about it. Actually he wasn't upset about not realising she was pregnant. Wilson was right, there was no way he could have known. But it would do as a reason for now. For now, while he couldn't put into words exactly why he felt so… _responsible_. Guilt wasn't an emotion he much experience with.

"Look House, from what you've told me, _she_ didn't even know, so how could you possibly be expected to have worked it out? And not only that, being ectopic it's highly likely she wasn't more than six or seven weeks' pregnant. When was the last time you saw her?"

House smiled ruefully. "About six weeks ago."

Wilson took a different tone, gentler. "Knowing she was pregnant wouldn't have changed what happened."

"I know that." House paused. "I never thought this would happen," he admitted, hesitantly. "Not to me."

"You do know what sex is for, don't you?"

"Cure for insomnia?"

Wilson rolled his eyes at the lame joke. "You need to go see her. She's alone here, you're her only friend. She's going to need a friend. And this experience has affected both of you – you need to talk."

House caught the ball one last time, put it down on the desk. He sighed, turned his chair to face Wilson. Sighed heavily again.

"That's the problem. I don't know what to say."

Wilson smiled at his old friend, full of sympathy, understanding how hard this was for him. He wished there was some way he could make this easier.

"Maybe you don't need to say anything at all. Just being there might be enough."

House paused, then got up, walked toward the door. He gestured to the three doctors in the adjoining room, still arguing over treatment.

"Don't let them kill the patient while I'm gone."

Wilson nodded.

HHHHHHHHHH

Chloe knew she'd been drifting for a while. She'd woken up once when a nurse had been checking something next her. This time she felt more alert, was aware of the IV needle in the back of her hand and a faint sense that there was pain, but it was at a distance, somehow separated from her.

Opening her eyes she could see light coming in from the window on her left. Turning her head toward it, she guessed it must be afternoon. She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath, coughing slightly; her chest felt tight.

House stood learning against the wall, on the furthest side of the room away from the bed. He'd been watching her sleep for quite a while. While she was sleeping he didn't have to worry about what to say, what to do, what she wanted from him. He still couldn't give any thought to what it all meant to him, what had almost happened. But for that small biological accident that caused this pregnancy to end, he could have been facing the prospect of … An image of his father's face, wrought in anger at some accidental mess by a six-year-old, swam into his mind's eye. He didn't let the thought continue.

This was the closest he'd ever come. There was that time with Stacy when she was late, they'd gone and bought the testing kit at the all-night pharmacy. Both of them pleased and vaguely disappointed when it had been negative. Then when he'd caught her in tears a couple of days later when her period had arrived, she'd blamed it on PMS. But afterwards, they'd both agreed it was for the best, something neither of them wanted.

Something he thought would never happen to him, either for medical reasons or lack of opportunity. As much as he had been enjoying the time he was spending with Chloe, there was no way he was even close to thinking about so much as whether he'd still be seeing her in nine months, much less, well, something like this. They hadn't even had that conversation – that uncomfortable do you like kids, what does commitment mean to you, oh, and by the way, how do you feel about picket fences? – that all women inevitably seemed to want to have.

Chloe opened her eyes again, lifted her head slightly to look around the room. Saw him standing there, not looking at her, slowly spinning his cane in one hand. To her right, through half-closed blinds, she could see a nurse's station and people moving around.

"What happened?" her voice was croaky.

He stood spinning his cane in silence for a while. Finally, he said, "You had surgery."

Speaking seemed to propel him into action. He walked forward, grabbed the chart from the end of the bed and flicked through the top pages.

She watched him read though. "Care to translate?"

"You had what's called an ectopic pregnancy," he said, comfortably talking the medicine. At least he knew what to say when they were talking about this. "The embryo implants in the fallopian tube instead of the uterus where it belongs. As it grows it ruptures the tube and causes bleeding. They had to remove your fallopian tube." He paused. "And the pregnancy too, of course."

"Oh," she said, unable to think of anything else to say. She moved in the bed, trying to get more comfortable as her mind tried to process what was going on. It was difficult enough coping with him playing the role of the doctor – a side of him she hadn't seen before. But then again, the side she saw of him was mostly naked, sweaty, and just a little bit desperate.

"My chest hurts."

"Yeah, it'll hurt for a couple of days," he said, placing the chart back on the bed end and moving around to a chair beside her bed. "They had to shock your heart, it fell out of its normal rhythm because you lost a lot of blood." He hung his cane on the back of the chair and sat down heavily, looking out the window.

"You've had blood transfusions too, so that unoriginal O positive came in handy in the end," he said lamely.

She lay still, staring at the ceiling, chewing her lower lip; trying to piece everything together. Lost for words.


	6. Chapter 6

"He's where?" Foreman exclaimed.

"Down in OB with a patient, apparently," said Chase, again.

"He never visits patients." Cameron rose to make another coffee. "Must be some reason for him to be there."

"No, this is exactly like him," Foreman complained. "He leaves us here to deal with this problem while he goofs off with some stupid new idea about treating newborns for migraines or something. We need him here or this guy is going to die."

Chase rose, "I'll go get him."

"I'm coming too." Foreman got up, a thunderous look on his face.

Chase and Foreman stormed out of the room a moment before Wilson walked in.

"So, what the current status?" he asked Cameron.

"What, do you mean House being AWOL or our patient?"

"The patient."

"He's critical. We have to make a decision about treatment. Chase and Foreman have just gone to find House. Apparently he's been spotted in OB. Probably trying to steal the coffee in the doctor's lounge again." Cameron snorted dismissively.

"Chase and Foreman have gone to get House?" said Wilson, alarmed.

"Yes. He needs to get back here so we can…" Cameron trailed off as Wilson turned and rushed off after them.

"_What_ is going on?" Cameron asked the empty room, futilely. She sighed, put down her coffee and rose to follow.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

House sat in the chair next to Chloe's bed and watched her out of the corner of his eye. He could tell she was processing the information, saw her biting on her lower lip. He waited, occasionally resting his chin on his cane, looking out the window. They sat in silence for a long time.

She started to speak, but her voice didn't work properly. She cleared her throat.

"Was it anything I did?" she said, weakly. "I was drinking. We weren't … well, gentle."

"No, nothing. Nothing you did, nothing _we_ did." He spoke gently but firmly. "It would have happened regardless."

She nodded, still staring at the ceiling. He watched her for a while. This sitting around in silence was killing him, but he really didn't know what to say.

He got up. "Scoot over."

"What?" She turned to look at him for the first time.

"Chloe, you weren't the only one who got a crap night's sleep last night, remember? And you've been lazing around, asleep for most of the day. Move over." He lowered the side of the bed and sat down, lifting his bad leg up on the bed as he turned toward her.

Gingerly Chloe moved over to make room for him on the narrow bed. She could feel the tightness in her belly and chest indicating the pain to come, but thankfully whatever they were feeding her through the IV was still keeping it far away.

She lifted her head so he could put his arm underneath and moved into him, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. The connection felt warm, reassuring.

Whether it was the comforting touch or just that she'd finally had enough time to think, the shock, the enormity of what had happened began to sink in. Almost forty and devoted to her career, motherhood was something she had decided was past her. But it had never confronted her in reality before, not even so much as a false alarm. Tears burned from nowhere and there was nothing she could do but let them out in painful sobs.

She was mortified, horrified to be reduced to a crying mess in front of him; dampening his shirt with her tears. In some ways she knew him intimately, but he really was more or less a stranger. It just didn't feel right to be sharing this emotion with him. But at the same time it had to be him, because this was something that had been theirs – regardless of whether they'd known each other for six dates or for six years. She felt more confused that she could ever remember.

"I'm … sorry …" she managed through her tears and sobs.

He rested his chin on the top of her head.

"Yeah," he sighed, "me too."

HHHHHHHHHH

Chase and Foreman had arrived on the floor and saw House standing in the room opposite the nurse's station. They both strode towards the door, but pulled up short as they saw House move sit next to the patient, obviously talking to her.

"_What_ is going on here?" exclaimed Chase.

Foreman grabbed a nearby nurse. "What's wrong with the patient in room three?"

She glanced over, then explained "Ectopic pregnancy. She had surgery this morning."

"And was everything normal? I mean, was there anything out of the ordinary?"

"Pretty serious blood loss resulting in arrhythmia, but other than that everything's standard. She's doing fine."

"Who's her treating doctor?"

"Dr Wright."

Wilson and Cameron arrived a moment later. Chase started filling them in on the information they had discovered.

"What's he doing?" exclaimed Cameron, as they all turned to stare at House who had, astonishingly, started to climb into the patient's bed.

Foreman put his hands on his hips. "This is getting ridiculous. I have _no idea_ what he's up to. Apparently she had surgery for an ectopic pregnancy this morning. It's completely routine. I mean, sad she lost a baby, but nothing medically interesting.."

Wilson sighed. He didn't want to invade House's privacy by telling them, but these three would keep going until they found out what was going on anyway. "For three very smart people, you can be awfully dumb."

The three young doctors turned to look at him.

"It hasn't occurred to you that House has had something personal going on today? That apart from it not being medically interesting, maybe House lost a baby today too?"

Cameron gasped, covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh my God."

Chase and Foreman looked sheepish and embarrassed at their outbursts.

"It's so hard to tell when he's being difficult because he's difficult…" began Chase.

"Or when he's being difficult because there's something going on," finished Foreman.

"Yes, I know, I understand," said Wilson patiently. "Go. Give the patient the antibiotics. Leave House alone for a while."

"Of course," said Cameron, starting to shepherd the other two towards the elevator. "Let me know if I can do anything."

"I will. I think the only thing we can do right now is leave them to talk." Wilson turned back. House's body lying on the bed faced away from him and shielded the couple from view. He grabbed the nurse who was making her way to the room.

"Can you close the blinds when you go in please?"

HHHHHHHHHH

The nurse's soft shoes shuffled against the floor as she walked in the room. Quietly and efficiently she closed the blinds, picked up the chart and began making observation notes from the equipment.

She'd seen a lot of weird things in her time, but this was Dr House, _the_ Dr House, PPTH nurses' number one most hated doctor, comforting a grieving woman. It would be a great story for the lounge. She tried to appear as if she wasn't looking at them, seemingly giving all her attention to the equipment readouts, but meanwhile did everything she could to soak in the details: the woman crying, House's hand stroking her hair behind her ear soothingly, murmuring quiet calming sounds.

Then she became aware of the way his hip was snugly fit into her waist, the way her hand rested on his shoulder. It dawned on her that they were a couple, this was their baby they were grieving for. She didn't think she could take quite the same pleasure in the gossip now.

"How much morphine is she on?" House whispered to the nurse over Chloe's head.

The nurse checked the chart and read out the prescription.

"Take it up to 20mg, I'll sign the chart."

"Yes, doctor." She made the adjustment to the pain meds, made a note on the chart, then left the room, closing the door quietly.

The drug took a while to take effect. Chloe's crying had subsided, but it still took time for her breathing to even out until House was sure she was sleeping. Carefully he lifted her head and removed his arm, reshuffling the pillows to make her comfortable. He slipped out of the bed as agilely and quietly as he could; a difficult task as his leg was killing him after lying in one spot for so long.

Taking a moment to swallow a couple of Vicoden he grabbed his cane from where he had rested it against the chair and left the room, heading for home.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

**A/N:** Thanks for the encouraging reviews - keep 'em coming! Just two more chapters to go and I'm really happy with the way the ending is turning out... won't be far away, I promise!


	7. Chapter 7

Chloe woke up around dawn when the nurse came in to do her obs. She'd slept a deep, drugged sleep, but didn't feel rested. House wasn't there and she almost wanted to ask the nurse if she knew where he was, but something stopped her. She lay quietly, staring out the window. Thinking but not thinking. She assumed it was the pain killers, but somehow her brain couldn't seem to stay on one train of thought for long.

She must have spent a couple of hours like that, numbly staring out the window. Wondering what this meant for her life, if anything, unable to reach any conclusions. Then the door to her room slid open and a short, dark-haired woman entered.

"Hi, I'm Dr Cuddy, the hospital's administrator," she introduced herself. It came out a little louder and more forced than Cuddy had planned. She had been debating with herself since she'd arrived at work about an hour ago about whether or not to stop into Chloe's room. She told herself that it was genuine concern for Chloe's wellbeing – she had no idea how House would have behaved towards her and after all Chloe was a patient in Cuddy's hospital. Her responsibility, in a way. She had to admit she was also motivated by curiosity and some fatalistic sense of misplaced sisterhood: two women who'd lost babies that House had something to do with – with vastly different levels of involvement, of course.

Chloe nodded at Cuddy, her thoughts immediately turning to wonder what problem would cause the administrator of the hospital to visit. She wondered if Greg had sent her.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," Cuddy looked slightly embarrassed. "I just thought I'd, well…" she trailed off. Then she seemed to reach some internal decision and moved towards Chloe, sitting down on the chair beside her bed.

"It's just that, well, I'm a friend of House's," she started to explain. "And he'd mentioned you to me, and that you don't have any family in town, and I just thought I'd stop in to see, you know, how you are," she finished lamely.

"Right. Well, I'm ok, thanks. I think."

"Has House been in to see you yet? I know he's been caught up with a patient…" Cuddy started to make an excuse for him, just in case – God forbid – he still hadn't visited.

"Yes, he was here last night. He stayed until I fell asleep." Chloe remembered how he'd held her while she cried. She'd felt something last night, this morning she had no idea what she felt.

Cuddy let out a breath in relief, she'd been so sure he would have been an ass. "Well, that's great. I mean, it's good you two had a chance to talk."

"We didn't really talk. Didn't really know what to say." Chloe admitted. "What time is it?"

Cuddy checked her watch. "About 8am."

Chloe sighed and stretched carefully, starting to feel the pain from the surgery all over her body.

Cuddy sat playing with the pearls around her neck, desperately trying to find something to say. Chloe saved her.

"So how long have you known Greg?" she asked.

"A long time. But it feels longer." Cuddy quipped. Chloe gave her a questioning look. "He can be … wearing," she said cautiously.

"Yeah, I get that." Chloe knew she couldn't bear working with Greg. Weekends at a time had been fine, but she didn't know how she'd go with more than even three days in a row.

"So," Chloe paused, hesitant. Could she trust Cuddy? Did it matter? "Has Greg talked to you about … this?" She waved her hand over her herself.

"No. Not since you were in surgery. I saw him in the waiting room."

"Right. And he didn't talk about what happened?"

"Nothing outside the medical stuff. Why?" Cuddy was getting nervous.

"Well, it's just that … I don't really know him all that well. I know that sounds ridiculous, given why I'm lying here, but it's the truth. So I don't really know what to expect. I mean, in terms of how he's going to react."

Cuddy took a deep breath. Given that she'd walked in thinking that House hadn't even been to visit, it was going to be tough to sincerely reassure Chloe that House would be supportive, loving and kind. She really wished that's what she could say.

"House is … unique," she began tactfully.

"I know that," interrupted Chloe, annoyed. "If he was like any other guy then I'd know what to expect. That's why I'm asking." Chloe was irritated. She didn't want the sanitised version of things, that would be no help at all.

Cuddy thought about how she'd feel in Chloe's situation. She decided that she'd rather have the truth – even if it was a bit painful – that could help her make good decisions. Painting an idealistic portrait might just give her expectations that House could never meet.

"Chloe, I think House will be totally at a loss as to what to do," Cuddy said in a rush. "He won't have a clue how to talk to you or what to say. He's great with the smart remarks and witty asides, but lousy at conversations when it comes to proper interpersonal relationships. Underneath all of that, though, he has a heart. And if you've got through his defences – and you obviously have – then he genuinely cares for you. So whatever he says, however badly he handles things, you need to try to remember that."

Just as she finished speaking, the door to Chloe's room opened again and this time the white-haired Dr Wright walked in, reading from Chloe's surgery notes.

"Hello Chloe," he said without looking up. "How are you feeling this morning?" He raised his head with a smile and saw Cuddy.

"Dr Cuddy," he said, surprised to see her there. "Good morning."

"Good morning Dr Wright," said Cuddy rising from the chair. "I'll leave you two alone to talk."

"No, don't go," said Chloe, surprised by her own words. She looked at Cuddy. "I mean, if you have time, and you could stay…" Chloe felt so numb and dazed, the logical part of her brain told her it would be a good idea to have someone else hear what the doctor had to say. The fact that the someone else was a stranger who was also a doctor showed that the logical part of her brain wasn't really functioning all that well. The non-logical part of her brain knew that she just needed a friend and beggars can't be choosers.

Cuddy sat down again. "Of course I'll stay. Go ahead Dr Wright."

"I can come back later if you'd like to wait for Dr House to be here, Chloe."

Chloe had some premonition that they might be waiting a long time. "No, it's fine. He already went through some of it with me yesterday. The main points, anyway."

"OK," Dr Wright smiled kindly and a little sadly, wondering exactly how Dr House – not someone renowned for tact and delicacy – had informed Chloe of what had happened.

"So, we took you up to surgery after you came into the ER…"

Chloe watched Dr Wright's face and tried hard to listen carefully as he stepped her through everything that had happened, what she could expect for the next few days and what follow-up care would be required in the coming weeks. At some point in his explanation, Cuddy had taken hold of her hand and Chloe was holding it tightly, immeasurably grateful for her kindness.

**A/N:** Don't know why this scene happened, but for some reason it just felt right. Final chapter coming soon. Reviews make my day!


	8. Chapter 8

House slept badly, and it was past 11 by the time he made it into the hospital the next morning. He had no idea what to say to Chloe, what to offer her. He needed to find out what she wanted from him. Was she expecting him to play nursemaid for her recovery? Was she going to want some kind of more permanent relationship from him now? He dreaded the inevitable conversation about whether or not they could or should be parents, her need to grieve over a baby neither of them had ever planned.

He didn't know what he wanted, but he did feel like he owed her something. Not that it was his fault, but it took two to tango, and so far she'd been the only one paying for it. Physically anyway. After lying in bed awake for hours, at 3am he had decided that at least if he knew what she wanted he could make decisions from there.

Out of habit he walked straight to his office. His team was in the meeting room, patient files spread out on the table. They looked up when he walked into his office, then hastily averted their glances and tried to nonchalantly look busy. _Damn_, he thought, _they know. Well, it was probably just a matter of time. _

Dumping his bag at his desk, he walked through the balcony door of his office and hopped over the dividing fence into Wilson's office, barging through the door. Wilson was on the phone and looked up, startled at the interruption. Seeing it was House he nodded and indicated with his eyes for him to take a seat opposite the desk.

Wilson finished up his call in time to watch House down the last of his coffee.

"I really should be used to that by now," Wilson muttered, nevertheless annoyed at losing his caffeine. "So, how's Chloe doing?"

"Physically she's OK. She was pretty upset last night…" he trailed off.

"Yeah, I saw you holding her, figured she was crying."

House looked at Wilson questioningly. "What were you doing in OB?"

"Well, I kind of headed the trio off at the pass while you were in with her. I'm sorry, House, I had to tell them, they were about to rush in and demand your presence. I just didn't think you needed that."

"I figured they knew from their reaction this morning. They left me alone. I suppose it was inevitable, no one has secrets in this place."

"That's true. So did you and Chloe get a chance to talk after…?"

"Not exactly. I figured her crying was partly due to the post-op pain, so I upped her morphine. And then she fell asleep." House told himself it was the truth.

"R-i-ight," said Wilson tentatively. "So how is she this morning? Calmed down at all?"

House looked a little abashed.

"So let me get this right. You did the right thing by comforting her when she was crying. But then when you couldn't work out what more to do, you basically drugged her and then when she fell unconscious you went home. And even though it's almost lunchtime you haven't been to see her again since then." Wilson blustered. "House you're unbelievable."

House began to get defensive. "She needed to rest, she doesn't need people hanging around trying explain the unexplainable."

"No, what she does need is someone there so she doesn't feel like she's all alone in this. She's been through a big loss in the past 24 hours."

"What loss? She had surgery. The fact that this was a pregnancy makes no difference whatsoever," House's voice was rising. "She could have had her appendix out as far as I'm concerned!"

"House! If she'd had her appendix out, you'd be being much nicer to her!" Wilson's tone rose to match House's. "You wouldn't be all freaked out in here instead of with her. You'd be relishing the opportunity to sit in someone's hospital room and watch soaps all day with a legitimate excuse!"

"I am not going to pretend to grieve for a non-existent baby!" House spat at him.

"Who said you had to?" Wilson shouted back.

House sat back in his chair, seemingly stunned into silence by his friend's outburst.

Wilson sighed, gathered up some papers on his desk and got up to put them into a filing cabinet. He sat back down and looked at House.

"What are you going to do?" he asked House simply.

"Wilson, it was six dates." House said heavily. "We were having fun. I was even enjoying having her in my apartment. It was all just…" he searched for the right word, "…unfolding. I didn't really have plans past where I might like to take her for dinner the next time she was in town. Let alone thinking about whether I might want to marry her or have kids."

"So, this has skipped you forward a few steps. That's all. Maybe you can go back to where you were before. Maybe you can't. But isn't it worth seeing what unfolds next?"

"So what, do I offer for her to come and stay at my place while she gets better? Do I just sit like an idiot and hold her hand while she cries tears I don't think are warranted? Do I go buy an engagement ring?"

Wilson realised despite his phrasing, House wasn't asking rhetorical questions. He really wanted advice on what to do next.

"Why don't you just go see her and ask her how she's feeling?"

HHHHHHHHH

When House walked into Chloe's room she was pacing slowly, holding tightly to the IV stand, watching her feet carefully as if she needed to coax them to move.

She looked up briefly when he walked in.

"They told me I had to get up and walk," she said gruffly.

"Yeah, that's what they say."

"It fucking hurts," she stated bluntly.

"I imagine it does," he said dryly.

She looked up at him and their eyes met. In that instant they realised that they were mirror images of each other: him, leaning heavily into the cane grasped in his right hand, pain and a bad night's sleep etched on his face; her, supported by the IV stand in her left hand, pale face, eyes smudged purple.

They held each other's gaze for a long time, trying somehow to communicate feelings that couldn't be fitted into words.

She was the first to break away, moving back to the bed, shifting herself on to it. The movement hurt and she groaned.

"I'm sorry," he said. He'd meant it as an expression of sympathy for her pain, but he knew as the words left his lips that they were much heavier than that; weighed down with meaning.

She looked up at him as he spoke, heard the emotion. Nodded.

"So," she asked, looking away, "what happens next?"

House took a deep breath in and his next words came out exactly as he intended. Crisp, professional.

"Well, you'll experience some pain and bleeding for a couple of days. You'll most likely be discharged tomorrow, but you'll need a follow-up ultrasound to make sure everything has healed properly." He swallowed, the doctoring veneer faltering slightly for his next statement. "There'll be some impact on your fertility obviously…" he trailed off. "Otherwise you should be fine."

"Yes, well, that wasn't quite what I meant. Dr Wright has already gone through all that with me." Chloe remembered the white-haired Doctor Wright's gentle explanations earlier that morning. And Dr Cuddy's reassurance after he'd left, that things would turn out for the best. She really wanted to believe that.

"I know." He turned to look out the window.

"Look Greg," Chloe started. She done a lot of thinking after Cuddy had left her room that morning. She knew that she had to take the lead. She couldn't wait for him to muddle through it, messing things up.

"I know that this is a bizarre situation. We've only known each other for a few months and I haven't even decided if I can stand you for longer than a weekend, let alone for kids and a mortgage," she tried a little laugh, but it was hollow.

House turned to look at her, hearing the echo of his words to Wilson just minutes ago. He gave her a sad, serious look and then a small, crooked smile. Realised she was letting him off the hook.

"You don't even know if I can do the dishes." House joked.

"Yes I do: you can't." Chloe smiled sadly. She leaned back on the pillows and stretched her legs out on the bed carefully. "I made a call this morning. My sister's flying in to pick me up tomorrow. Taking me home." She was matter-of-fact. "I'm going to do my follow up there."

"Oh." House nodded, as if approving a particularly practical plan. "That makes sense, I guess."

"That's what I thought."

House stood awkwardly at the end of the bed, momentarily lost for words. He felt both relieved and cheated. He'd gone through hell, prepared himself to walk in the room and have one of the most difficult conversations of his life. He didn't know exactly what he'd been prepared to offer, but knew that he didn't want to stuff things up for a change. Whatever that meant. And then she'd taken the decision away from him. _No_, House thought, _no you don't._

He was filled with uncertainty, but he'd been honest when he spoke with Wilson. He was happy with how things had been unfolding. If they could just pretend this had never happened… He worked up his courage and spoke hesitantly.

"A few years ago I went for a drive, just needed to clear my head. I didn't have any particular direction in mind. So I found myself heading out of town on this back road, and there were just warehouses and factories all around. Then I saw this neon light in blue saying 'Yianni's Greek Food'…"

Chloe interrupted him, looking confused. "Is this a metaphor?"

"No, a dinner invitation. The next time you're in town."

Chloe took a deep breath. She could see the vulnerability on his face, uncertain whether he should have put it out there that he wanted to keep in contact with her. She wanted to make everything alright for both of them, but knew it never would be.

"Thanks," she said. It was the best she could do, and she tried through her eyes to let him know that.

They shared a sad smile before Chloe looked away to the window.

House took a breath, aware now that there would be grief for him, whether he wanted it or not. He walked toward the door but paused after a step. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he turned and walked back toward the bed. Once again, their eyes met. He leant down, putting a hand under her chin and she lifted her head. Their lips touched lightly.

He turned and walked out of the room.

THE END

**A/N**

Thanks so much to everyone who has left comments and given encouragement, particularly Gypsy71, JuliaBohemian, Sans Amoure and Sokerchick. You have encouraged me to keep writing and I have a new story which will be posted soon, hopefully.

I hope you have enjoyed the final chapter and like the way it concluded. I have re-written the ending about four times (which is why it's taken a while to post) with scenes ranging from sappy through to harsh: I hope this is a bit of both. It feels right to me anyway, even with the corny kiss ending. Look forward to hearing your comments. Cheers.


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